Quotes About Death

Ho?emo li mi, kada jednom umremo, postati zvijezde - te malene nakupine svjetlosnog praha na nemilosrdnom polju crnila? Ili samo odlazimo pod zemlju i tamo trunemo?

They had joked together as young men that they planned to die before their wives; it was the best way, since neither man could imagine life without them.

When Mantle faced the cameras for the last time a month before his death, he was a husk of a man, shrunken by cancer. The stiff brim of his 1995 All-Star Game cap dwarfed his brow. There was no Mantle Roll. He looked straight into the cameras and told us all, 'Don't be like me.' The transformation of The Mick parallels the transformation of American culture from willful innocence to knowing cynicism. To tell his story is to tell ours.

fine tailoring couldn't cloak the primitive danger of the desert. The desert was about life. Death. Survival. And she saw the desert in his eyes, dark gold like the Saharan sand.

Vets do what doctors used to - diagnose the injury or the condition, patch it up as best they can and remind you that these things happen and that in life we are also in the midst of death.

Somehow, knowing that Alzheimer's is coming mocks all one's aspirations - to tell stories, to think through certain issues as only a novel can do, to be recognised for one's accomplishments and hard work - in a way that old familiar death does not.

She had never felt so alone or frightened in her life. She had come to Berlin to feel closer to her mother, and had found instead danger and death.

The few certainties in our existences are pain, death and bereavement.

Annie, it is surrender." Somehow Annie knew what he meant. Eric was about to die. Soon after, he fell into a coma. At half past nine that night, Eric Liddell "surrendered" and died.

We received our coloring from Norsemen. Hairy savages who hacked their gods to pieces and hung the flesh from trees. We are the ones who sacked Rome. Fear only feeble old age and death in bed. Don't forget who you are.

Oleander time, she said. Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind.

She had storms all her life, but she died peacefully.

I know a place on this Earth that contains wonders enough to stop the breath. A place where the very rocks whisper and whine, where the rivers boil and the snow-studded peaks thrust into a bowl of blue; where great shaggy beasts press the earth with cloven hooves or threaten with claw and fang; where new life and lurking death coexist in the shallows of varicolored pools.

The sun is all love and murder, judgement, the perpetual raid of conscience, paratrooping light which opens like a snow-blossom in the downward drift of death. Wherever I turn - the golden cymbals of judgement, the summoning of the torturers of light.

a morass of despair violence death with a thin layer of glass spread upon the surface where Love, a tiny crab with pincers and rainbow shell, walked delicately ever sideways but getting nowhere, while the sun [...] rose higher in the sky its tassels dropping with flame threatening every moment to melt the precarious highway of glass. And the people: giant pathworks of colour with limbs missing and parts of their mind snipped off to fit them into the outline of the free pattern.

Some days later Susan and I went to the city for an X-ray, and Susan was found to have tuberculosis, and was put in one of the small rooms down the corridor next to Margaret and to Eva who woke one morning, vomited, and died, and her mother, a small woman with bandy legs and wearing a grey coat, came to collect her things.

Life, of course, never gets anyone's entire attention. Death always remains interesting, pulls us, draws us.

Death isn't a tragedy," he continued. "Death is merely a step to something better. The tragedy is a life misspent. Yours wasn't." Misspent? It hardly seemed spent at all. "But I didn't get a chance to do anything important." "You learned to love and to forgive. That is a life well spent." The

Now I lay me down to sleep. I pay the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pay the Lord my soul to take.

As the blood poured from his tattered heart into the open air and his brain suffocated, all those incomplete thoughts of Wittgenstein decayed with the dying neurons. Neural connections in the gray matter storing memories and ideas in their ordered configurations fired across the gaps, last gaps of mental life. Thoughts on Truth and Will were erased as flesh sloshed soft and limp against alabaster, no more than rotting human fruit.

Death has no repeal. It is a brute ending that leaves us the legacy of an inscrutable silence. Therefore, I understand the voice of mercy very well.

What is any war but a massacre?

Psychoanalysis has taught that the dead – a dead parent, for example – can be more alive for us, more powerful, more scary, than the living. It is the question of ghosts.

Sillä mitä on saaliin vapaus? Rakkaudella odottaa, kunnes tulee kuolema ja syö.